


I am not my Father. I am not my Brother.

by CrowKing



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Brother-Sister Relationships, Gen, Graphic descriptions of violence, Mentions of Rape, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 18:50:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16728879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrowKing/pseuds/CrowKing
Summary: You are the youngest Bolton sibling. After everything you've seen and heard your family do, you must make the hardest decision. Do you accept Ramsay's actions an stay by his side? Or do you betray him and risk everything including your own life?





	I am not my Father. I am not my Brother.

**Author's Note:**

> Original Request: Imagine Ramsay's sister (favored in the North) betraying the Bolton family and joining Jon Snow's war effort. 
> 
> I was hoping to get a request like this for a long time. It made me so happy to write it. I worked really hard on this one, so if you enjoyed it (or did not care for it at all) please let me know!

You couldn’t imagine your life without Ramsay. You couldn’t remember a time before him. He chased you around the Dreadfort and would tickle you until you couldn’t breathe. Sometimes you would watch him hurt and slice open rabbits and rats that crept into the kitchens. You had seen so much blood before you even bled.

Roose always thought highly of you. His proper daughter who had manners, civility, and dignity. He always praised you in front of Ramsay who lacked in all of these areas. When Ramsay would get jealous, he locked you inside the kennel with all of the dogs. He would hear you scream, beg, and scratch the door until he let you out. Roose swore up and down that those dogs would never hurt you. You begged to differ.

You wrote Sansa Stark quite frequently and love to hear her stories in the South. At least, until she told you what the South really was: a cesspool of liars, murderers, and monsters. You rooted for Robb until you heard what happened at the Red Wedding. Letters from Sansa stopped coming. You took it in stride. Why would she ever speak to you or anyone ever again?

You joined Ramsay when taking Winterfell. You’ve been here before and it did not looked like the same grand palace you once knew. Things were broken. People were weak. Worst of all, your older brother took it like he was the hero. 

“I’ve come to save you,” he proudly said on top of his horse. “The Bolton family will provide for you now.”

Every night, you’d sneak away from your room to feed Theon. He insist that you would call him Reek, but you called him Theon anyways. It was the name he was given, not the one he was forced to take. Some nights you’d almost get caught by your brother, but a guard or two kept lookout for you.

Soon, you realized your good deed had spread around the people of Winterfell. So much so that when Sansa finally came home to marry your older brother, you already possessed three messages of Sansa’s escape. They came to you from the hands of cooks, septas, and even guards. Each would wait until you said or ordered something.

Going against Ramsay would be risky, but Ramsay forgot something about you. You were just as smart as him. Maybe even smarter.

You remembered the first time you had Sansa alone. Her steel cold stare and black-clothed appearance intimidated you. You watched her eyes tear up. A sob escaped, but she tried to hold it back. You dropped the messages in her room.  
“I am not my father. I am not my brother,” you told her. She picked them up, realizing what they were. “I am better than them, and I know winter is coming for my family.” Sansa embraced you tightly. Her tears spilled from her eyes and down her cheeks. You felt them on your own. You couldn’t give Sansa her family back, but you could give Sansa her life back.

You watched Ramsay marry her against her will. You heard Sansa screaming through the walls. You rushed towards the kennel. You had to do something. Anything. Until you heard them barking loudly. You swore their teeth could eat the metal off of their cages. When you returned to your room, you were met with your older brother.

Ramsay, covered in sweat, barely clothes on, wore a wicked smirk on his face. He pushed you against the wall, a knife to your throat. A familiar experience. You didn’t flinch once.

“Did you hear her?” he asked you.

“Yes,” you answered. Your hate grew in your throat. You had to hold your tongue.

“Did you like it?” Ramsay shared his joy with you. Secretly, he had hoped you would be just like him. He took you hunting despite Roose’s wishes. He had shown you how to defend yourself from other men. Ramsay even had you watch him torture other Northmen. You watched the toughest men of Westeros fall apart like crumbs on the floor because of Ramsay. 

Ramsay wanted you to be like him so badly that he taught you everything he knew. Including how to kill Myranda. 

It was twilight. Ramsay was away, and you thought you had Myranda distracted. Until Theon had blabbed to her about your plans to help Sansa escape. She pointed an arrow at Sansa’s face. Myranda’s threats and teases had boiled your anger even more. 

“So, shall we wait for him to come back? Or should we begin now?” she said to Sansa. Sansa’s eyes went from Myranda’s to yours. The question hung in the air until Myranda answered it herself.

She pulled the arrow tighter. “You’re leaving it to me? Good. Let’s begin.” The ugly smile grew twice its size. You threw yourself behind her. She struggled against you until Theon helped you throw her over the edge. All three of you watched her fall and her face hit the ground first with a deafening crack. You felt a laugh escape you.

Maybe you were more like your brother than you realized. 

“Open the gates!” you heard. You didn’t have the time to gleefully enjoy Myranda’s bleeding out body in the cold, snowy ground. You helped Theon and Sansa jump from above and you watched them run until you couldn’t see them anymore. They made it. They were gone.

Ramsay’s wrath was made known to all of Winterfell. He never suspected you. You held Myranda’s dead hand while you sobbed next to her body.  
“She was my friend!” you screamed in tears. “She was the closest thing I had to a sister! I want them here. Both of them. I want to skin them myself.” Ramsay bought every word. He hugged you tightly. His words poisoned your ear.

“You will. Sansa and Reek will be ours. Her pain will be paid a thousand times over, and you will be the one to do it.”

You made a prayer wheel for both of them. Hoping to some God or Goddess that Sansa made it to her brother, Jon Snow. You kept quiet and laid low for weeks. You overheard everything your father planned. You watched what Ramsay did. This was it? Your legacy? Two monster ruling the North for their own greed and sin. It disgusted you.

Roose made plans to arrange a marriage between you and a Karstark, hoping it would make both families allies. Unfortunately, the unlucky Karstark met your brother first. Ramsay grew possessive of you after Myranda’s death, and he wasn’t about to let you go to a horribly stupid man. Roose had yelled at Ramsay for running things again, but you pulled your brother aside.

“Thank you,” you genuinely told him. Ramsay escorted you back to your room.

“Did you think I let you marry him?” You watched his eyes glare back at your father. “Something needs to be done about him. He’s risking you and me for what?”

“What are you suggesting? Kill him?” You said it. Ramsay’s eyes dilated when he looked at you. His wicked smirk grew on his face.

“Little sister,” Ramsay said. “You may have given me the best idea ever.” You watched him do it. You saw the knife enter your father’s chest and leave it. Your father’s body hit the ground like a sack of meat. That all he was now. Meat. Then you watched it happen again. Walda and your newest baby brother. Ramsay promised you that they wouldn’t hurt you, but you stayed outside anyways. 

Their mouths ripped them to shreds. Walda’s large body provided a fulfilling thanksgiving to them. Each had a mouthful of her muscle and tore away at the saggy skin. Her dress was useless armor. Fabric scattered across the floor like leaves. Walda’s face was half-eaten. You watched Ramsay’s favorite girl, Lola, slurp her brown eye up nerves and all. 

You couldn’t stomach looking at the baby. 

Ramsay’s hands grabbed your arm to help you up. Vomit dribbled from your mouth. The mess you left on the ground was already starting to freeze over. Your red eyes looked at Ramsay.

“See? It’s just you and me now,” he smiled.

“What about what you said?” you responded, shivering.

“What?”  
“You said you like being an only child,” your voice cracked. “What does that mean?” Ramsay’s face fell.

“I wouldn’t hurt you. I wouldn’t dare.” Ramsay said. “You’re not a threat to me. I have killed everyone around us who threatens us.”

“This is Westeros, Ramsay,” you argued. “Everyone is a threat.”

“Then I’ll kill everyone until it’s only you and me in this world,” Ramsay assured you. “I will kill and flay everyone until we’re happy. Do you understand?” His hand pet your head. You completely understood. 

Messages. Letters. Signs. They were everywhere. The people in the North prayed for your health. They spoke of you in different tongues and called you ‘Red Queen’ or ‘Rose in the North’. Ramsay spoke of this new rival in angry words and threats.

“I’ll kill her,” he spat. “Who does she think she is? She can’t take it from me. She was my wife!”

Your attention snapped. “You think the Red Queen is Sansa Stark?”

“I know it’s her. Why else would they call her the Red Queen, hm? Red hair? Female? When I find her, I’ll fucking rape her until she’s nothing. Do you hear me? Nothing. Until she’ll beg me to join her mother again.”

You couldn’t do it anymore. Ramsay sent his Pink Letter to Jon Snow, and you needed to make it to the Commander before the letter did. The fastest horse in Winterfell didn’t move fast enough for you. You wished you could be a direwolf like the Starks. So your paws could and hurt the ground and dig up the Earth as you moved across it. 

No dog could hurt you if you were a direwolf. Ramsay couldn’t hurt you or anyone else if you were a direwolf.

Once you made it to the gates, you saw a certain redhead yell at the men and run to the entrance. Sansa embraced you like she did when you both were young. Her warm hands melted the snow off your hair. She smelled like the same lemon cakes she loved.

“Sansa,” you sobbed.

“It’s alright, you’re here. You’re safe.” She shushed you and pet your hair. You heard crunches in the snow. Sansa turned around and answered someone.

“This is her. The Red Queen, Ramsay’s sister.” Sansa stepped away to give her brother, Jon Snow, full view of you. You looked at him after years of not seeing the bastard. You felt your heart swell and a warmth grow throughout your body.

“Lady Bolton,” Jon greeted you. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”

“I share the same sentiment,” you said, shivering in the cold. Upon seeing your distress, Jon Snow and Sansa took you inside. After explaining everything, the Pink Letter came. All of you knew what needed to be done. 

Whispers of your uprising reached Ramsay’s ears, but he didn’t believe it until he watched you ride beside Jon Snow. His heart dropped below the Earth where it would stay because nothing else could save him now. 

You raised your father’s sword in the air. “For me!”

Ramsay watched his own men abandon him as they turned against each other and rode towards you to join you. Ramsay’s plan had fallen apart before it started. Ramsay knew how intelligent he was, but he forgot he taught you everything.

His horse flew away from the battlefield. Jon and you chased after him with your own horses. Poor Rickon’s body had been dragged across the ground too far. You passed by his little body and your horse kept flying. You thought you had the lead until a large white mass matched your speed. 

You looked to your left to see Ghost, Jon’s direwolf. You watched him catch up to Ramsay’s horse and eventually take down Ramsay. You rushed towards your brother who tried to crawl away from Ghost. His leg was bitten, bleeding and fractured. Ramsau used his other leg and hands to get away. 

Until you struck down your father’s sword. 

“Y/N!” Ramsay screamed at you. “You bitch! I was protecting us!”

“No, Ramsay. You were protecting yourself.”

“I loved you!” Ramsay screamed. “I am your brother! We are of the same blood!” Your eyes narrowed. A long cold breath escaped your body as if you were a dragon. Ghost growled in his face. Ramsay swiped a knife at Ghost’s nose. You knocked his last weapon out of his hands with your own. 

Ramsay screamed. You sliced his wrist along with the knife. Blood gushed out marking a deep red in the snow. Ramsay immediately put pressure on it while still crawling away. Ghost nipped at his face.

“Y/N, don’t do this!” Ramsay said to you. The ancestral winds sang their song to you while they whipped your hair around. As if every female Bolton there ever was chanted for your victory. You set your sword down and held out your hand. Ramsay desperately took it and tried to stand. 

“Eat him,” you ordered Ghost. Ghost’s mouth went for Ramsay’s throat. His jaws punctured his skin and tore it away. You watched Ramsay’s soul slip away into nothing as he choked on his blood while Ghost tore and clawed away. His armor, now in shreds, like Walda’s clothing. His body sitting there like meat on the ground like your father. His face crunched like Myranda’s.

Ghost’s mouth dribbled in blood. You caught a few pieces of muscle in his mouth. Ghost walked over to you happily, and for the first time, you pet him. Your fingers ran through his white and red stained fur. You took another look at Ramsay’s remains. Nothing was left of him now.

Just bone, guts, and pieces of skin. What now? You couldn’t remember a time before Ramsay. You would say that you couldn’t imagine a life without Ramsay.

“My lady!” Jon Snow called out to you. “What’s happened?”

But you could now. You were not your Father. You were not your Brother. You were a Queen. A Red Queen of the North.


End file.
